


If Ever I Dreamed of My Dead Name

by DeanisBatman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Gen, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Has A Heart, even if he is an idiot sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 15:42:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15489186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanisBatman/pseuds/DeanisBatman
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes tries to find a place for himself post-Winter Soldier while living in the shadow of "Bucky" and the expectations of who he is supposed to be.





	If Ever I Dreamed of My Dead Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roseandthorns28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandthorns28/gifts).



> Title taken from the poem “With An Identity Disc” by Wilfred Owen
> 
> Story inspired by the fic “By Any Other Name” written by roseandthorns28

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes stared at his reflection in the bedroom window. Raindrops pattered lazily against the glass, breaking up his image with squiggly drips. He felt cold inside even though the room was heated comfortably. He wondered if it was something HYDRA had broken inside of him or if he had always been cold. It was hard to remember sometimes.

"Bucky?”

His storm gray eyes shot up and glanced over his reflection's shoulder to where Steve Rodgers was cautiously entering the room. The soft spoken nickname lodged something painful in his chest. Barnes took a steadying breath.

“Yeah?” his voice was rough with disuse.

“There's a team dinner tonight and I thought it might be a good time to introduce you to everyone. There's no pressure,” Steve held up his empty palms. “Only if you want to.”

“Sure.” Barnes was not hungry, but it was obvious from his hopeful expression that Steve wanted him to go. He owed the man so much already. The least he could do was sit through a meal.

Rodgers relaxed, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Thank you, Bucky. We can head up whenever you're ready.”

Barnes looked down at the clothes he had been wearing for two days straight. “I'll change first.”

It was still weird having a full closet of clothes that belonged to him. Apparently the entire Tower suite and everything in it had been provided by Tony Stark. Howard's son. A sharp, vivid memory flashed through his head.

_Howard Stark, old and pale, kneeling on the ground. Eyes spilling over with fear._

_“Bucky?” Howard spoke._

_The name clawed at the fog coating his thoughts, but it was not strong enough to break through. The Winter Soldier punched Howard in the face. Bones crunched under the weight of his metal arm. He punched again and again. Until the mission was complete._

Barnes came out of the memory gasping for breath and shaking. He was on the floor, flesh hand twisting into the carpet. Steve was at his side, stroking his shoulders and whispering soothing words.

“Bucky?”

Barnes flinched violently at the name. Howard's voice echoing eerily in his head.

“Hey, it's okay, Buck. You're alright,” Steve said, fingertips tracing patterns over the now sweat soaked t-shirt.

He wanted to turn and hug Steve close. He wanted to cry and scream and rage over the unfairness that was his life. Instead, he pulled away and pushed unsteadily to his feet.

“Gotta change,” he ground out.

“We can wait…” Steve's protest trailed off when Barnes closed himself in the walk in closet.

He stood in the darkness for a long moment, the bulk of hanging clothes pushing toward him with invisible hands. He closed his eyes and felt tears leak through the lashes. Steve was waiting for him and Barnes knew he could choose to stay in his room and never face the man whose parents he had murdered.

But Howard's memory deserved better than that. Tony Stark deserved better.

He took a shuddering breath and flicked on the closet light. A quick shower was probably called for, but Barnes did not have the energy. Instead he mopped the sweat off his body with the dirty t-shirt, applied liberal body spray and pulled on a soft tracksuit. His hair was stringy and oiled so he tucked it up under a hat. His empty left sleeve had already been folded and pinned in place.

The mirror at the back of the closet stared mournfully back at him. He looked terrible. Sunken features, pale skin and dark circles under his eyes from too many sleepless nights. It did not matter. His outside matched the inside - broken, sick - and he was tired of hiding.

Steve was sitting patiently on the bed when he exited the closet. His friend gave him a forced, lopsided grin.

“You look good.”

They both knew it was a lie.

“Let's go,” Barnes said.

-

The smell of a dozen different foods assaulted his senses the moment the elevator doors opened. Barnes paused before stepping out into the common room.

A large dining table was loaded down with food and drinks. The Avengers turned as one to watch his approach. Barnes had never felt so vulnerable. His hand itched for a weapon, trigger finger twitching involuntarily.

The red headed Black Widow saw the movement. Her eyebrows raised in a silent question but he ignored it. Steve walked up to his side and put a heavy hand on Barnes shoulder.

“Everyone, this is Bucky,” Steve said.

His flesh hand spasmed, but he forcefully stopped the full body flich that tried to break free at the name. Steve had earned the right to call him whatever he wanted.

Tony Stark rose out of his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Barnes waited, unable to breath. Whatever the man said next had the potential to completely shatter the super soldier. That terrified Barnes.

“I'm not calling him Bucky, Cap. He's the world's best assassin, no offense-” he waved a hand in the Widow's direction and she shrugged in agreement “-and Bucky just sounds like a clown at some kid's cowboy themed birthday party. So, yeah, no. Not happening.”

Tony gave Barnes a thorough once over, gaze sticking momentarily at the empty left sleeve before moving on.

“What do you want me to call you?” Tony asked once he was done visually assessing him.

Based in the expressions of disbelief from the others around the table, Tony probably did not often give people the choice.

“James,” the word felt rough in his throat, but something in his chest - that painful thing that had lodged in place earlier when Steve had called him “Bucky” - loosened a bit. He could breathe again. “James is fine.”

Tony nodded and then swung an arm out to encompass the table. “Well, James, take a seat. We've got a starving god over here.”

Thor looked up guiltily from where he had been trying to sneak a bit of meat onto his plate.

Steve steered James to a couple of empty seats on one corner of the table. The others took this as their cue and everyone started loading up their plates with food. A familiar chatter that must have been interrupted by his arrival resumed. The sense of vulnerability faded with each minute that passed where he was not the focus of attention.

James watched, but did not attempt to fill his own plate. Steve shot him a concerned look and, instead of saying anything, started placing an assortment of appetizers on the table between them.

Stark was watching him, mouth turned down in a frown. James felt his muscles tense again.

“Why don't you try to eat something, Bucky?” Steve asked quietly.

There was no controlling the hard clench of his hand. Steve was supposed to be his best friend. He was supposed to care, to _understand_. James pinched the bridge of his nose.

A few minutes before he had been willing to let Steve call him anything because he had earned the right through seventy plus years of sacrifice and friendship - even if James could only remember bits and pieces - but now that he had been allowed to say his preference out loud it felt almost like a betrayal for Steve to keep using the name that hurt. _Every time_.

“James, remember,” he corrected just as quietly.

There was no way Stark could hear their hushed interaction, but the man's brilliant brown eyes sharpened with sudden interest.

“Sorry, I didn't realize it was bothering you. Um, James,” Steve stumbled, clearly confused but trying not to show it.

As an apology, James snagged several deep-fried mystery blobs and started munching on them. The cloying grease made his stomach roil, but he forced himself to keep eating. There was already enough guilt in his system. He did not need Captain America’s puppy dog eyes haunting him all throughout dinner.

When he looked up next, Tony Stark's spot at the table was vacant. Barnes jumped when the chair next to him pulled back with a squeak and Stark plopped down onto it.

“So, you're a fried Oreos kinda guy, huh?” Tony asked with a nod toward the last remaining blob on the super soldier's plate.

“Not really,” James ground out. He cleared his throat and tried again as his hand tapped a nervous pattern on the table. “It's just food.”

Stark hummed noncommittally.

James waited for the other shoe to drop. Stark had to hate him for murdering his parents. Waiting for the inevitable accusations and rage to finally be unleashed left him unmoored and on edge. He would deserve it though. Even welcome it.

“Mr. Stark,” he began.

“Tony,” the man interrupted. He added coldly, “Mr.Stark was my father.”

Another hot wave of guilt crashed over James and he ducked his head, too ashamed to look at the other man.

“Tony,” he amended, still staring down at his fork. He took in long fortifying breath before pressing onward. “Thank you for everything you've done for me and Steve.”

The man beside him released a strangled laugh. “For a second there I thought you were going to apologize for killing my parents. I had half decided to punch you in the face.” Another bitter laugh. “Glad I waited to hear you out. You're welcome, by the way”

The casual way Tony mentioned what he had done did not sit right with James. It outright made his skin crawl, but apologizing was off the table now so he kept silent.

“Stark, we agreed you wouldn't bring that subject up,” Steve hissed behind James back, no doubt sending his best 'I’m disappointed in your life choices’ glare at Tony.

Feeling suddenly trapped, James pushed back his chair and stood. His heart was beating too fast, sweat slicking his palms.

“It was nice meeting you all,” he said without looking at anyone.

Then he turned and fled to the safety of his rooms.

-

Three days had passed since the disastrous team dinner and James still had not left his bedroom. The thought of eating anything made him feel sicker even than the hunger pangs. Steve had tried to coax him out, but thankfully Stark's - no, _Tony's_ \- AI, FRIDAY, had succeeded in keeping everyone out at James request.

He did not deserve their concern or their support. Angry, black clouds of self hatred swirled around inside of him. Stewing in a storm of anger, fear and regret was definitely not healthy. James was self aware enough to see that, but was not sure how to move past it.

There had never been time during the war to focus on anything except survival and the decades he had spent under HYRDA’s control were no better. All those years of choices taken from him.

Bucky.

He wondered if that man could ever come back from the dead. James doubted it and, for Steve's sake, he mourned the loss.

Bucky was gone. The name now meant pain and heartache where before it must have held a different emotion. He could not remember what it had been. His chest ached with the loss of knowledge.

“Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY spoke up, her modulated voice almost gentle.

“Yes?” God, he sounded even worse than before, like he had been gargling with rocks.

“Mr. Stark is asking to speak with you.”

A lead weight dropped into his stomach. He gave the door a wary look. FRIDAY was loyal to Stark - _Tony_ \- so she would probably let him in regardless of how James felt on the matter. He carded a hand through his messy hair.

“Fine,” he said.

There was a long pause where nothing happened and then FRIDAY said hesitantly. “You can say no, Sergeant Barnes. I am still new at determining human emotional cues, but you have been in distress the last few days. If speaking to Mr. Stark will increase that stress...I want you to be aware that you can refuse him. He will honor your decision.”

It was touching that the AI had thought of his emotional needs and, not for the first time, James found himself in awe of this thing that Tony had created.

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate that.” He gave her nearest camera a shy smile. “Let him in.”

Some of the trepidation fell away. FRIDAY had been created by Tony and if she could show such kindness than he really should give her creator another chance.

The door unlocked but did not open.

There was a knock.

“James, it's Tony. Steve's worried sick about you and I'm just checking in. Is it okay for me to come inside?”

Feeling stupid for hiding on his bed, James stood and brushed the worst of the wrinkles out of the tracksuit he had worn for the last few days. He grimaced at how disgusting he probably smelled. There was nothing he could do about that now. He squared his shoulders and walked over, opening the door.

Tony was leaning against the door frame. His sharp chocolate eyes took in the other man's bedraggled appearance.

“Yep, you need a shower. Pronto. Then food.” He waved toward the bathroom. “Chop, chop.”

James felt his mouth turn down in confusion. Tony was supposed to be mad at him not trying to get him cleaned up.

“I'm fine,” he said. Throat feeling raw.

“You're really not,” Tony said, not unkindly. “But that's okay. We can do something about that.” He gave James a gentle shove toward the bathroom. “Starting with a shower. While you're in there I'm going to order us some grub. Any preferences?”

James shook his head. Not sure what else to do, he followed the man's orders and took a shower.

The hot water was amazing when he stepped under the spray. James felt an embarrassed flush work its way up his chest and neck. He had been acting like a child, he could see that now. All they wanted to do was help him and he had been too wrapped up in his pity party to let them. It had been so selfish. He wanted to melt into the floor instead of face them again.

Especially Steve. He had done so much to protect James from the actions HYDRA had forced him to take. And James had repaid it by shutting the man out and acting like a complete asshole. Over a name. It had been stupid.

His earlier dark mood did not fully retreat, but James was able to have a bit more positive perspective on the whole thing by the time he had toweled off.

At some point Tony must have entered the bathroom because there was a clean pair of sweats, underwear and a tank top folded neatly on the sink. He dressed quickly.

Something smelled delicious and his stomach was rumbling loudly in anticipation. He glanced at his reflection just long enough to see the raised, pink scars on his left side before tearing his gaze away. The metal mooring stump for his prosthetic arm was out in the open for the first time in months. He felt self-conscious about it but not enough to actually go get a different shirt. Tony would either be grossed out or fascinated by it.

What he did not expect was for Tony to ignore it completely.

James entered the suite dining area. Tony was busy pulling steaming white cartons of food out of plastic bags. It smelled amazing.

“I just got a little if everything since I wasn't sure what you would like,” Tony said without looking up.

“Thanks.”

“Steve’s having a breakdown in Thor's room right now,” Tony said conversationally. “He thinks you're having trouble with the triggers again and you don't want him to get hurt so you're shutting him out.”

“What do you think?” James asked, taking a seat at the table.

Tony shrugged. “Shuri was pretty positive she got those triggers out of your head. Besides, I don't think the Winter Soldier would sit and brood. I think he would probably just go break some faces.”

_Bones crunching under his metal arm. Brains splattered across his chest. Blood running down into his eyes._

James sucked in a painful breath. Tony was watching him carefully.

“Sorry, that was rude,” Tony said. Then his mouth twisted into a bitter grin and he half shrugged. “Actually, on second thought, you might as well get used to it. I'm an asshole with no filter and you just happen to be on my shit list. I don't try to be malicious but let's be honest, we're not going to be holding hands singing kumbaya anytime soon.”

“I understand,” James said. And he truly did. It was easy to see that Tony was hurting and James had been the cause of that pain. He deserved every passive aggressive comment and so much more. “I wouldn't mind, you know,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

“Mind what?” Tony asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“If you killed me. You must want to.” James motioned to the food and then Tony. “I don't know why you're doing all of this when you clearly hate me. I don't mind if you need to kill me to finally find peace with what happened to your parents.”

Tony paled and sat down abruptly, almost missing the chair. He scrubbed both hands through his hair and down his face.

“I am a complete asshole. We already established that,” Tony added pointing at the ceiling. “I take that back. I'm not an asshole, I'm a monster with no sense of tact or deceny. Jesus how do people put up with me,” the last he muttered to himself.

James was having trouble following the other man's ramble. He had just offered to sacrifice himself for the other man's peace of mind. That had to be enough. It was all he had left to give.

“What do you want from me?” James asked. As the words left his mouth he realized that was the thing that had been weighing on him these last few days. The thing that kept drawing him back into the darkness. It was the question he wanted to ask the whole world. _What did it want from him._

“Nothing,” Tony said tiredly. “Eat.” He shoved a carton of noodles at James. “Just. Just fucking eat.”

So he did. He had no intention of taking back the offer though. Whenever Tony decided to collect, James would be ready to accept his fate.

They ate in tense silence until half the food was gone.

“I don't hate you,” Tony finally said. He was staring down into his rice, poking at it with a chopstick. “I know it wasn't you not really. It was HYDRA.”

_Cold air pressed in all around him, the roar of a bike and squeal of tires. Blood. A throat under his hands. Choking._

_“Howard.”_

_“Bucky.”_

James wanted to curl up and die. He could still smell Howard's blood. It turned his stomach and he fought not to throw up, swallowing hard.

“I deserve it. Your hatred, your bullet in my brain. I deserve it all,” the words came out as a broken whisper edging toward a sob.

“Fuck. I'm not equipped to handle this,” Tony said, dropping his rice carton on the table. “FRI, babe, get Steve down here.”

“No!” James cried. He could not let Steve know. Steve would just try to save him again. He might even hurt Tony. “No,” his second plea came out softer but no less terrified.

“Okay,” Tony held up his empty hands in surrender. “No Steve. Gotcha. We'll just eat and then I'll leave and pretend we did not have this conversation, okay? Okay.”

James tried to finish his half of the food. With the sense memories still so sharp on his tongue it was a struggle to make it through each bite. After a few moment Tony gave an exaggerated sigh and started cleaning up the table - throwing away empty containers and putting the rest in the fridge.

When all that remained was James container of wantons, Tony held out his hand for them.  
“C’mon, James. I can tell you're as done with this as I am. Hand them over and I'll get out of your hair,” he said.

James handed it over with relief. Once Tony had stored it in the fridge with the others he gave James another quick once over, nodded and headed for the elevator. He paused and turned back.

“You should let Steve in. He's the closest thing to therapy you got right now and from the sounds of things you could really use a healthy outside perspective.” He walked away, throwing over one shoulder, “which I am not.”

James watched the elevator doors close. He knew the man was right. Steve would want to be here to help, but James could not shake the feeling that Steve wanted to help a dead man. Bucky. Not the broken husk that was James Buchanan Barnes.

“FRIDAY, tell Steve he's free to come down whenever he wants.”

There was no real point in hiding any longer. He would need to face Steve eventually.

“Right away, Sergeant Barnes.”

Tired of brooding in his angst, James started straightening up the rooms. He stripped his bed and bundled it up with his dirty clothes and towels, tipping the whole lot down the laundry chute. He pulled out a new set of sheets and set them on the bed.

“Captain Rodgers is on his way down,” FRIDAY alerted him.

He heard the elevator open seconds later and Steve's loping stride move through the living room.

“Bucky?” he called.

That hurt more than it should have. A lancing pain straight through his chest.

“In here,” he called back.

Steve materialized at the door, his expression concerned and wary, but also hopeful.

“How are you feeling? Tony said he got you to finally eat something,” Steve said with a small smile.

“Yeah,” James replied.

He started wrangling on the fitted sheet one handed and Steve came over to help him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asked.

“About what?” For a heartstopping moment he thought Tony might have told Steve about his offer.

“Whatever it was that made you lock us out,” Steve said gently. “I know it's hard, Buck, but yo-”

“ _James_ ,” Barnes cut in with a growl of frustration.

Steve looked taken aback. “Sorry, James. I forgot.” He let the sheet slip through his fingers as he straightened. “Why does it bother you when I call you Bucky. It didn't use to. Not until that dinner. Did Stark say or do anything.” Steve looked ready to go find Tony and do something stupid.

“No.” James shook his head. “I just prefer it. The other - Bucky - there are too many expectations and memories attached. Or too little. It's not who I am anymore.”

He waited for the look of disappointment and betrayal. It did not come. Instead Steve just looked sad. He walked over and pulled James into a tight hug.

“I haven't been a very good friend, have I?” he asked, voice muffled.

“You've been great. This is all me. I'm the broken one,” James admitted.

The hug became tighter before Steve pulled far enough away to look into his friend's stormy eyes.

“You're not broken, Bu-James. Just a little rough around the edges. We all are. This is a Tower of people who have been taken apart and put back together a little different. You're not alone.”

The first sob took James by surprise. It tore out of his chest like a living thing. He leaned forward into Steve's warm embrace. Not feeling worthy of the comfort but needing it all the same. He let the tears fall and gave voice to all the things rattling around inside his head.

A high, broken keen filled the air and he bit it off with a harsh cry of despair. Sobs shook his body until his knees grew too weak to hold him up. Steve lowered them both gently to the half made bed, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around James. Holding him together.

He felt almost human again. James Buchanan Barnes. Purging the darkness in a shower of grief.

There was no telling how long they sat like that. In the end, James cried himself into exhaustion with his forehead resting on Steve's shoulder. The sound of his friend muttering a lullaby of soft reassurances sent him drifting off into oblivion.

-

Four Month Later…

James collapsed onto the common room couch, an apple in one hand and a jar of peanut butter in the other.

“How does the new arm upgrade feel?” Tony asked from the counter where he was brewing yet another pot of coffee. “Any lingering nerve pain?”

James tossed the apple up in the air and caught it in his metal hand with a grin. “Nope. Works like a charm.”

Tony's sported a matching grin. “Good to hear. Now if only we could do something about your fashion sense.”

James glanced down at his tracksuit. “Its comfortable,” he defended.

“Uh-huh. Pepper would cry actual tears if she saw you wearing that,” Tony said. “For her sake, let FRIDAY pick out some things. Nothing too fancy, but we really gotta get away from this People of Walmart vibe you've got going on. It's embarrassing.”

James huddled down in to corner of the couch. “I don't understand that reference, but I'll consider letting FRIDAY pick out a few things if you include cool gadgets in the next arm upgrade.”

“Oh, what are we talking about here?” Tony asked, clearly interested.

James shrugged and gave the inventor his most charming smile. “Surprise me.”

“Ooh, you like to live dangerously.” Tony looked absolutely delighted.

Steve ambled into the room with sleep tossed hair, his mouth opening in a wide yawn.

“Why are you guys awake? It's,” he glanced blearily at the nearest clock, “3am.” He gave Tony an incredulous look. “Is that coffee?”

“Uh, yeah. I'm in the middle of some serious sciencing. Probably won't surface again until tomorrow,” Tony said.

“James? You okay?” Steve asked, collapsing onto the couch next to his friend.

“I was hungry,” James explained, twisting the lid off the peanut butter jar.

“No nightmares?” Steve pressed.

“A few. Nothing I can't handle. Here's a better question. Why are you awake?” James asked.

“Natasha and Clint talked me into a Star Wars marathon,” Steve said. “We've still got one more to go. Clint decided to include the pre-sequels.”

James groaned in sympathy.

Steve slid sideways until he was leaning against James metal arm. “Save me, Obi-wan Kenobi, you're my only hope,” he intoned pitifully, eyes sliding closed.

A bright warmth flooded through James. He still had bad days, moments where he felt like he would never truly escape his past, but they were growing fewer.

Here, supporting the slumped weight of his best friend and watching Tony pour himself a travel mug of coffee, he felt whole. He was James and no one expected him to be anything or anyone else.

He sent out a grateful thought to the universe that had brought him to this moment. James Barnes was going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky’s tracksuit obsession is absolutely based on Kim Joo-won from the Korean drama Secret Garden. Those fucking overly attractive, tracksuit obsessed men. **Shakes head**


End file.
